


the liquor can't burn me like you do.

by indicognito



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Emetophobia, F/M, Unrequited Love, also mentions of dirkjake, non sburb i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indicognito/pseuds/indicognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the nights to seek solace at the bottom of the bottle, this was probably Roxy’s worst choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the liquor can't burn me like you do.

Janey always warned you that one of these days, you were going to take it too far. Every time, you laughed her off and said that you had it under control; you’ve been dipping into the liquor cabinet since a tender age, and you were pretty sure that you knew just when to stop yourself before things got out of hand.

But this… this is probably too far.

You know you should’ve put the glass down when you started not only slurring but actually garbling words, to the point where no one around you could understand every other word out of your mouth. But then one more tequila, two more tequilas, three – oh, there you go, stumbling to the bathroom and ridding your stomach and waiting patiently for the dizziness to fade as it always does.

It doesn’t this time. Usually vomiting up the excess booze is enough to get you feeling at least functional, if not better, but stars are exploding behind your eyes and you’re having a hard time differentiating up from down. Your trembling fingers manage to find the flush lever and push it down, but the moment you take your hand away is the moment your body decides that standing has become too much of an effort.  You slump to the floor, head knocking against the toilet paper roll protruding from the wall on the way down.

Nursing the sore spot with one hand, you wipe the flecks of vomit from your chin with the other and wonder vaguely if anyone noticed you come in here. You’re hoping that no one else needs to use the bathroom, since you’re not leaving anytime soon. You don’t think you could manage to get out if you wanted to – the world is still a warping mess of bright porcelain colours in front of you, and the idea of even getting to your feet is laughable.

And you do giggle, but it’s at the thought of Dirk finding you half-sprawled on his bathroom floor on the night he explicitly asked you  _not_  to drink too much. Well, you kind of fucked that one up, didn’t you? But really, he’s the selfish one for not expecting you to let loose, relax a little, especially given the circumstances. Dirk Strider has never been an idiot, and he should have been fully aware that inviting you to his fucking engagement party was not going to be a cause for  _your_  celebration.

You guess that actually makes  _you_  the selfish one, but you’ve downed too many Long Island Iced Teas tonight to care about who’s really to blame.

Your gut is cramping again, but when you shuffle over to drape your head over the toilet bowl, nothing else comes up. You wince, both at the pain and the sour taste in your mouth, but you still don’t trust your legs enough to stand and get help. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been reduced to a semi-coherent, dry heaving mess, and you can only assume that you just need a bit of time to recuperate. Once you can get back up, then you can call a cab and drag your sorry, drunken ass back to your single flat and pass out for the next fourteen hours.

But black spots are starting to pepper in among the swirls and stars, and you can feel the gentle tug of unconsciousness lulling you even farther downward. The hard tile isn’t exactly an ideal spot for a nap, but your whirring mind sees the ceramic as an adequate pillow for the time being. You feel yourself tipping sideways, the floor somehow drawing you closer as the black spots begin to take over—

And then the door is slamming open with a bang that reverberates through your aching head, and a tall figure is dropping to their knees right by you, and a voice is growling and angry… at you, probably, seeing as there’s no one else here.

The sudden arrival is enough to shock your vision into having some degree of clarity, and it’s Dirk who’s now crouched in front of you, his face a terrifying mixture of anger and worry. You want to say something, apologise maybe, laugh more likely – you can’t control it very well at this stage. But he’s still saying things, frustrated things, and you begin to piece the words together as your consciousness slowly returns.

“…can’t fucking believe you – I actually pulled the  _massive judgemental dick_  card and specifically asked you to take it easy – how much did you have? Half the goddamned refreshment table? – Jesus Christ, Rox, if this was going to be so hard on you, then you shouldn’t have even come.”

The last line plunges so deeply into your chest that you’re surprised that your heart doesn’t stop beating right then and there.

When he’s sure that you aren’t going to fall over again, he gets to his feet and retrieves a glass of water from the sink. Returning to you and crouching back down, he holds the glass to your lips and urges you to drink.

“Come on, this is the best we can do for now. If you pass out again, we’re gonna have to call an ambulance.” He continues to curse low, under his breath, a string of vehement tirades directed toward your idiotic antics.

You oblige him as best as you can, your writhing stomach refusing to take more than a few sips of water at a time. But considering how badly you’ve failed him tonight, the night he was supposed to be happily celebrating his dumb stupid engagement to his dumb stupid boyfriend – scratch that,  _fiancé –_  it’s literally the best you can do by now. You can swear you’re still in physical pain over what he said, but you tell yourself that you deserve it for doing this to him when everyone else is being supportive.

You’ve been one of Dirk’s best friends, if not his actual  _best_  friend, since the two of you were kids. Out of anyone he knows, you of all people should be one of those he can count on to be happy for him at a time like this. Instead, you decided to let your jealousy get in the way, and you dealt with that jealousy in the only way you know how – the way you’ve been dealing with it since you found out he would never be able to reciprocate your feelings.

And that’s why you’re on the floor now, being practically spoon-fed water by the man you’ve been in love with for years because you couldn’t act like a fucking adult and control yourself.

Dirk is still muttering, still swearing, blaming himself for not realising that this was probably going to be too much for you to handle… and  _that’s_  what hurts the most. Because he knows, he’s always known, and neither of you has ever been able to do anything about it. And you want so fucking much to not care as much as you do, if only for his sake, but you can’t turn off love any more than he can change his preferences. He managed to cope with his own issues, though; you’re the one who let yourself get consumed by emotions.

Dirk’s happy now, but you’ve never been able to move on enough to let yourself be happy too.

And yet, despite his confidence in his own choices, Dirk has never let you go. By all rights, any average person would have left you behind, thinking it was for the best since you weren’t able to detach yourself on your own. But Dirk never did that – he’s  _always_  there, listening when you need to vent, giving advice when you ask for it, coping with you when you have one too many drinks and think that pestering him is a good idea. He’s good to you.

He’s  _so_  good to you, and you’ve never deserved someone like him, even as a friend.

Anyone else could have left you on the bathroom floor. No one but Dirk would have actively tried to make sure you were okay instead of writing your drunkenness off as the norm. No one but Dirk would have gotten the glass of water and ensured that you had something other than alcohol coursing through your system. No one but Dirk would care as much as he does.

And now you’re crying; not dignified, subtle tears, but body-wracking sobs that are ugly and loud. You try to wipe your eyes and end up smearing your makeup everywhere –  _great, lookin’ sexy now, Rolal –_ and then you’re laughing at the same time. It’s all a big, sniffling, hiccupping mess, and you almost expect Dirk to give up right then and there.

He doesn’t. He sets the glass aside and seats himself properly, arms resting on his knees and mouth sloped downward into a disapproving line. “Look at yourself, Rox. Do you think this is okay?”

“N-no,” you manage after a second, after the giggle-sobs have subsided. The words are no less slurred than before, but you try your damnedest to enunciate each one. “B-but it…  _hurts,_ Dirky. Sucks. Big time.”

“I know, I know.” He runs one hand through his hair in that way he does when he’s stumped by a problem, and you want to reach out and hold it. But you don’t, only waiting for him to speak. “But you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You can’t keep doing this…”

_No, Dirk, don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it—_

“You can’t keep doing this to me.”

With that, your heart seems to crumble altogether. That’s what it boils down to in the end. You hurt, you hurt a lot, and seeing him happy with Jake hurts you more each time. But by acting like a petulant idiot, you’re causing him more pain than you could ever know.

A long time ago, before he met Jake but after you knew about his sexuality, he told you that he wished he could be what you wanted him to be, to make you happy. For ages, you clung onto that statement like a lifeline, as if it was a token that could be used upon him magically changing his mind at some point. But that point never arrived, and you’re slowly beginning to accept that his words were little else than that – words, meant as reassurance but with no more weight than an empty promise.

He wants you to be happy. That, ultimately, is what he has always wanted for you, and he knows that he can’t be the one to give it.

And you’re still drowning that knowledge in liquor, even years later. He knows that’s exactly why you’re doing it, and that’s why he’s hurting.

“Distri…” Your breath continues to hitch, making speaking difficult. “M’sorry. I’m s-sorry, m’awful – ”

“You’re not awful,” he says, stern now. “Rox, look at me.” You do. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up. And that’s going to be all kinds more awful than puking all over my toilet.”

You glance over and notice that yes, you happened to miss the bowl in a pretty spectacular way. So much for hiding your gastronomic pyrotechnics by flushing them away. You turn back to him, eyes lowered in shame.

“This is how things are now,” he continues. “That’s not changing. I’m sorry, Roxy. We’ve been over this.”

“I know.” You can’t get your voice above a husky whisper. “M’sorry.”

He sighs and shifts over so that he’s now sitting beside you, back to the wall as well. “It’s okay. Well, no, it’s not, since you almost got alcohol poisoning, but… it’ll be okay.”

You hate how he sounds right now, because he’s still blaming himself and there’s absolutely no reason for it. But he’s never been able to pin it all on you, even if it’s mostly your fault. Hell, it’s all your fault, if you’re being completely honest. He can’t help who he is, and you can’t help how you feel, but you  _can_  help how you act upon it.

And you want to explain of all of this to him, but you can hardly arrange the thoughts in your own mind, let alone explain them in any way that would make sense. So you just lean you head against his shoulder, tentatively at first, then fully when he doesn’t shrug away. “It’ll be okay,” you repeat softly.

Neither of you can be sure when  _okay_  will happen, but you hope – for both of your sakes – that it will be soon.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally based off of an anonymous prompt for 'water,' but things rapidly got out of hand. oops.
> 
> in any case, thank you for reading, lovelies. comments and critiques are always appreciated.  
> ♥


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